San Francisco
by elysiann
Summary: Ranch business and a letter from one of Jonesy's old acquaintances brings the boys all the way to the west coast, where they are unwittingly caught up in the underhanded dealings of the notorious Barbary Coast. *ON HIATUS*
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey, guys! A little forewarning, I took some liberties with Jonesy's history in this one (Thanks, Laramie Station, for helping me out with that bit of backstory!), but to the best of my recollection, the series doesn't tell us much about Jonesy's life before the series begins, so I didn't have much to go on. In any case, I hope you guys enjoy this story! And yes, it's a work in progress. Read it as I go, wait until it's finished, it makes no difference to me, but if I don't start posting, I'll never get anywhere.**

 **Typical warnings: a little violence, nothing much.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Laramie, unfortunately.**

* * *

 **Chapter One - _Prologue_**

 **San Francisco, 1833**

Heavy and damp as the sea itself, gray mist settled around the clipper _Sundance_ like a blanket. Rhythmic creaks and groans kept time with the soft, wet lapping of water against the hull of the ship as it waited vacant in the harbor.

A mere twenty-seven sailors had manned the _Sundance_ on her last voyage; an uncommonly small number for a cargo so large. Captain Murphy had every faith in his men, having hand-picked a batch of good workers that would stop at nothing to keep their vessel on schedule. Successful in their endeavor, the crew had disembarked on the Barbary Coast, heading for San Francisco's finest waterfront tavern.

One round of lukewarm, watered-down beers led to another, followed by countless shots of whiskey. Murphy's crew was a rowdy bunch by nature, even without the influence of hard liquor; cheap whiskey only worsened their riotous presence. The din of boisterous, intoxicated laughter filled every corner of the saloon, and had long since caused most other waterfront wanderers to seek another establishment to satisfy their thirst. Only the crew of the _Sundance_ remained, rallying 'round their captain and engaging the tavern's girls in mumbling, nonsensical conversation.

Downing his fourth beer – or was it his fifth? – Murphy wiped his mouth with the frayed hem of his sleeve and wrapped a strong, heavy arm around his mate beside him.

For his first mate, Murphy had chosen Jones; a young man out of Wyoming looking for a change in scenery and good, honest pay. Jonesy, as the captain affectionately dubbed the lad, was hard-working and loyal, pulling his weight just like one of the many seasoned men. Quickly recognized as the musically inclined one of the bunch, Jonesy was often tasked with entertaining the crew through song. He shared cattleman's campfire songs with the seasoned seamen, and easily picked up their shanties, playing jaunty and haunting melodies alike with the captain's old accordion, which Murphy had never gotten around to learning to play.

"Play us a tune, Jones," Murphy commanded jovially, sweeping his arm toward the battered old piano. "Somethin' lively, now."

"Aye, Captain," the younger man replied with a wink, settling down on the cracked, weathered stool. His fingers danced over the yellowed keys, starting up a fast-paced shanty. _"T'was a cold an' dreary mornin' in December..."_

Immediately recognizing the shanty, the crew raised their glasses and chorused, _"December!"_

 _"An' all of me money, it was spent,"_ Jonesy sang, his fingers persistently coaxing an off-key melody from the poor old instrument.

 _"It was spent!"_

 _"Where it went to, Lord, I can't remember-"_

 _"Remember!"_

 _"So down to the shippin' office went!"_

 _"Went, went!"_

Captain Murphy downed another shot of whiskey, let out a half-inebriated shout, and bellowed the chorus with fervor. _"Paddy lay back!"_

Jonesy joined in the echo, pounding the yellowed keys, _"Paddy lay back!"_

 _Take in yer slack-"_

 _"Take in yer slack!"_ the rowdy bunch of sailors shouted, crooning the rest of the verse all together, _"Take a turn around the capstan - heave a pawl - heave a pawl! About ship, stations, boys, be handy - raise tacks, sheets, an' mainsail haul!"_

Two or three men had managed to coax a few saloon girls to participate in erratic, uncoordinated dancing, spinning them 'round and 'round to the jaunty rhythm of Jonesy's playing.

" _Now some of our fellers had been drinkin'," Jonesy_ sang out, his foot stomping in time.

 _"Aye, drinkin'!"_ the men chorused, reaching calloused hands for the nearest bottle.

The mate's next refrain, _"An' I myself was heavy on the booze,"_ was met with a great shout of satisfaction as the crew thrust their glasses skyward, amber liquid sloshing every which way.

Murphy laughed, a deep and bellowing sound, as he picked up with the melody, _"An' I was on me ol' sea-chest a-thinkin'..."_

 _"A-thinkin'!"_

 _"I'd turn into me bunk an' have a snooze!"_

 _"Snooze, snooze!"_

 _"Paddy lay back!"_ The captain and his mate chorused together, Murphy crossing the room to clap a hand on Jonesy's shoulder.

Even the tavern girls sang out in reply, _"Paddy lay back!"_

 _Take in yer slack-"_

 _"Take in yer slack!"_ Jonesy pounded with even more fervor, if that were somehow possible, and the chorus finished out strong. _"Take a turn around the capstan - heave a pawl - heave a pawl! About ship, stations, boys, be handy - raise tacks, sheets, an' mainsail-"_

"Alright, boys, that'll be enough!"

The bartender's booming shout caused the eagerly sung shanty to falter into uncertainty; Jonesy's joyous pounding trailed off into half-hearted, off-key piddling before ceasing altogether. Gathering up the empty beer glasses that spanned the marred wooden surface of the bar, the heavyset tavern owner nodded toward weather-worn batwing doors.

"It's a good half hour past closin' time, fellas. You best gather your things and find a good inn for the night, or head back to your vessel."

"Closin' time? Why, we's just gettin' started!"

Murphy scowled in the general direction of the drunken protest. "Pipe down, Harry. We're in the wee hours of the morning, the barkeep's entitled to close down and get his rest if he wills." Looping an intoxicated crew member's arm around his shoulders, Captain Murphy led his men out into the cold, dreary fog that consumed the waterfront. "Besides, Jones," he whispered - a loud, hoarse whisper that smelled of strong whiskey - as he steered his crew toward the wharf, "We've far better spirits on the _Sundance._ "

"Liquor, sir?" Jonesy questioned, "But we delivered the last of our shipment hours ago. There's nothing on that clipper but a half bottle of whiskey and seawater."

"Aye, lad," Murphy grinned, his surprisingly well-kept white teeth making a sharp contrast to the darkly tanned, weathered skin of his face. "But I very well might've skimmed a keg from the shipment before we made our delivery..." A murmur of inebriated approval sounded from the crew, and their captain quickened his pace. "Come now, we've plenty of rum to finish off before customs is along to search the vessel for contraband."

Jonesy grinned broadly, the liquor-haze in his eyes giving way to an excited gleam. "Aye-aye, Captain."

* * *

 **A/N: Just a short prologue to kick things off :) Hopefully I'll be continuing quickly!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Sorry it took so long for this, guys - after an entire year away from writing, it's been odd getting back into it. Bear with me as I try and find my rhythm again, I hop this doesn't read too awkwardly. I hope you all enjoy this!**

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

 **Laramie, 1871**

Sweltering and uncomfortably bright, the sun's incandescence was a harsh, white presence in the otherwise perfect, cloudless sky, brilliant and vivid as a field of bluebells. A warm summer breeze ghosted through the yard; just enough to ease the tremendous noon heat, and make the tall grass ripple.

The heat was unusual and unexpected for early October, carrying with it a humid thickness that gave the whole ranch a lazy air. It was exactly the kind of day that would make even the most hard-working, motivated man move sluggishly.

A particularly strong gust blew through the open windows of the little ranch house, making the curtains dance. Paper rustled and shifted with the sudden wind, floating over the old wooden desk's worn edge, much to Slim's irritation. Dropping his pencil for the first time since breakfast, the rancher leaned in his chair to snatch the runaway documents from the floor; in doing so, he caught sight of a small, lean figure sprinting full speed toward the house.

Andy reached the door in record time, his worn, dusty boots pounding against the weathered wood planking of the porch. He had barely opened the front door when a second, equally lean figure made his way from the barn. Jess followed his young friend at a much more leisurely pace, shrugging a lightweight blue button-down shirt over his muscled shoulders.

Turning back to his paperwork, Slim barely heard his name being spoken until it was repeated, more urgently.

"Slim?"

The rancher shifted his paperwork. "Mmmm?"

"Slim? Me and Jess are goin' fishin'. Wanna come?"

"Jess and I," the elder Sherman replied out of habit, automatically correcting his brother's words. Without lifting his gaze, in his mind's eye he could practically see the younger Sherman's eyes rolling with annoyance.

The slow, quiet scuffing of boots sounded from the porch, indicating Jess had finally made his way to the porch.

A frown creased Andy's boyish face. "That ain't how Jess talks."

"Jess talks like a no-account drifter," Slim muttered absently, scribbling his signature on three separate documents.

"Hey, now," a rough, familiar baritone interjected from the doorway, "That ain't nice at all."

The beginnings of a smile creased the corners of Slim's mouth as he laid down his work, turning to his brother. "You know I'd love to come fishing with you, Andy, but I've got plenty more paperwork and whatnot to do today. After all," he reasoned, his grin broadening, " _Somebody_ has to keep this ranch running smoothly."

Slim's deliberate jab elicited the desired response. Dark brows raising sharply, Jess's retort was tinged with light vexation. "Oh, so you're the only fella 'round here that's done any work today?" Crossing over to join the brothers, Jess ran one calloused hand through his dark waves so they no longer lay flat and damp against his head. "I ain't seen you so much as break a sweat today, pard."

Jess's indignation was convincing enough to put nearly anyone on edge, and if Slim didn't know better, he would have missed the light twinkle in his partner's deep blue eyes. Noting the obvious dampness of the other man's shirt, and the way his hair lay heavy with moisture, he offered a nod of concession. "Maybe so, but that's only because you seem to have done enough sweatin' for the both of us, pard."

The Texan's half-hearted scowl faded into a smug grin as he scrubbed another hand through his dark locks, causing them to stick out every which way. "You just wish you could get all them chores done as quick and good as I can."

Andy's eyes lit up, his head bobbing rapidly. "It's true, Slim! I ain't never seen anybody chop wood and soap a harness and mend a horseshoe as quick as Jess."

Blond brows raised slightly. "Oh, you haven't?"

"Never. Jess here's probably the strongest fella I know!" Andy gazed up at his friend, eyes bright with admiration.

The dark-haired cowboy grinned, tousling his young companion's hair affectionately. "Thanks, Andy."

Slim watched his brother, carefully clearing his throat. Andy's eyes widened, realization tinging his face with red. "I mean… he's _one of_ the strongest fellas I know."

The elder Sherman laughed, a few blond strands falling over his forehead as he shook his head. "I'm only playing, Andy."

"Don't worry about it, Andy. It's fine to like me best, so long as we don't tell Slim," Jess assured him in whispered tones, keeping his voice to where Slim could easily hear.

"Don't listen to neither one o' them boys, Andy," a new voice instructed, "They'll turn anything into a competition."

"Jonesy!" Andy crossed the floor in the blink of an eye, throwing his arms around the older man.

"How's Laramie?" Jess inquired conversationally, referring to Jonesy's morning supply run.

The old man nodded slowly, tipping his battered hat back on his head. "Just fine, boy." Eyes subtly narrowing, his words took on musing tone as he continued. "Now when you ask about 'Laramie', you wouldn't possibly be askin' after that sweet little redhead from St. Louis that just started at Dinah's restaurant, would you?"

Lifting his brows in feigned surprise, Jess fumbled with the buttons of his work shirt. "Now why would I go and do a thing like that, Jonesy? You know I ain't the type to be domesticated."

Slim chucked under his breath at the way Jess over-enunciated his final word with a touch of disgust. He grinned up at his partner, watching the nearly imperceptible reaction behind his cool blue eyes when Jonesy replied, "That's just as well, 'cause if you _was_ askin' about her – which you ain't – then I'd be obliged to tell you she's already caught the eye of Elias Johnston's eldest boy."

"Oh?" Jess seemed disinterested, busying himself with fastening up his shirt.

"And," Jonesy added deliberately, eyeing his young friend, "She doesn't seem to mind his looks one little bit."

At that, a faint scowl darkened Jess's straight, rugged features. "No surprise. All Johnston's gotta do is tell a gal he's the _banker's son_ and she's stuck to him like glue. They're always starry-eyed over them _respectable_ fellas."

Andy frowned slightly, sensing Jess's annoyance, and Slim nudged him forward gently. "Andy, you two oughta get going if you're going to get any good fishing done in time for supper."

"Right!" Suddenly remembering why he'd come running inside in the first place, Andy darted into the bedroom. "I just gotta get my canteen, Jess!"

"Get a move on, kiddo!" the dark-headed Texan called after him, hastily tucking in his newly-buttoned shirt. All visions of petite redheads were dispelled immediately, giving way to the thought of a long, lazy afternoon fishing. Flashing his friends a smile, Jess snatched his dusty black Stetson from the rack. "Just you wait, pard – we'll be back with a whole mess of fish for supper." Winking playfully, he slung his gun belt over his shoulder and sauntered after Andy, slamming the door behind him.

Slim winced. "If I've told them once, I've told them a thousand times-"

"That old door's survived bein' slammed around since Andy was a toddler," Jonesy interrupted lightly. "I think it's holdin' up just fine."

Slim only shook his head, gesturing to the parcel Jonesy held. "Any mail?"

Jonesy became suddenly aware of the bundle he'd been carrying since his arrival, dropping it on the desk to unfasten the twine that secured it. "Jess got a box here, must be that fancy part for his fightin' gun that he sent away for last month."

"If he isn't using that danged gunfighter's piece anymore – which he better not be – I don't see why he'd spend money on new parts for it so it can keep on layin' in the fireplace." Handling the small box with aversion, Slim set it aside. "Anything else?"

"The usual. Somethin' from the stage company, and a bill from the livery. A few letters for you... and somethin'..." Jonesy peered at the envelope a second time, pleasant surprise softening the aged lines around his eyes. "Well, look at that. And a little somethin' for yours truly."

"Ain't often you get mail, Jonesy," Slim remarked, taking his few pieces of mail and quickly shuffling through them. "Business or pleasure?"

Jonesy noted the postmark with interest, curiosity clear on his face. "Dunno yet." Carefully tearing the paper's corner, he headed for the kitchen to read in privacy.

The tall blond returned to his work, sighing as he started with the livery bill. "Had to leave Alamo for _one_ week because he turned up lame, and I'm paying like it was _two_ weeks," Slim muttered in agitation, scowling at the number clearly printed across the paper's center. He reached for the ranch's ledger, preparing to make another entry when a voice from the rear indicated Jonesy's return from the kitchen.

"Hey, Slim – I know I was plannin' to stay and hold down the fort with Andy when you and Jess went to San Francisco next week... but is there any chance I could tag along?"

Turning in his seat, Slim deliberated Jonesy's words for a brief moment before consenting. "I don't see why not. Andy has plenty of friends he could stay with. Why are you suddenly so eager to go along on a business trip?" The rancher caught the slight upturn of his older friend's mouth, and the soft fondness in his eyes. "You miss the sea?"

Considering the notion, Jonesy shrugged. "Nah, I love cattle country too much. I'm just feelin' a little sentimental is all." Lifting the paper in his hand, he continued, "Old friend of mine asked if I was up for a visit to the coast sometime soon. Says he found some things of mine when he was going through his chest from our voyage on the _Sundance."_

"That rum-running clipper you used to tell me stories about?" Slim easily remembered many nights as a child when his father's close friend would sit by his bedside and regale him with smuggler's tales from the sea. "I didn't know you kept in touch with your old shipmates."

"I only hear from 'em once every blue moon or so, but we ain't completely forgot each other." Jonesy folded his letter and slid it into the pocket of his vest, patting it once. "Last I heard from Wilson here was a good ten five ago when he wrote to tell me Captain Murphy had passed. Murphy was a tough old fella, lived to dang near ninety."

Impressed with the late captain's grit and endurance, Slim nodded and shifted in his chair. "Well, if you'd like to come along and pay this Wilson a visit, I see no reason why you shouldn't."

"I appreciate it, Slim, I really do." Jonesy lifted his hat to run a hand through what light, thinning hair he had left. "While we're waitin' on the boys to bring back supper, can I fix you up some lunch? We got enough cold pork and beans for a small army."

The younger man inwardly groaned at the thought of pork and beans for his fifth straight meal. "First thing we do in San Francisco will be to fix you up with a pork dinner fit for a king, Jonesy. You've eaten enough trail drive suppers to last two lifetimes."

Jonesy nodded his approval, turning for the kitchen. "Fair enough. But I'm takin' you and Jess to all the best seamen's taverns along the coast before we head home."

"You buyin'?" Slim inquired eagerly.

Throwing his arms up in surrender, Jonesy sighed loudly as he disappeared around the corner. "Oh, why not!"

Grinning with satisfaction as he turned in his seat, Slim resumed his work pleasurably. "Fine by me, Jonesy."


End file.
